Monthly Archives: August 2011

An interesting debate about the nature of religion

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It didn’t start out that way. Pascal-Emmanuel Gobry posted the following:

To have a religion is to hold a belief about metaphysics. Either you believe that Allah is God and Muhammad is his Prophet or you don’t. If you do, and you eat pork, this will not make Muhammad more, or less, the Prophet. The two things aren’t related.

He was questioning the relationship between religious belief and “action,” specifically the question “why do you, as an X (say Christian), do Y?”

Noah Millman responded with the provocatively titled post, “When I was in school, I cheated on my metaphysics exam: I looked into the soul of the boy sitting next to me.”

Millman points out the priority, for most of the world’s religions of “orthopraxy” over “orthodoxy;” that is to say one’s actions, especially ritual actions are what make one a Hindu, or Jew, to take two examples.

In Gobry’s response, he says:

But here’s the thing: the subtext to this entire debate is really the question: “Does (my particular) religious belief make people a better people?” “And if so, to what extent, and how, and why?”

To the first question, my answer is a resounding yes.

Secularism and its Discontents

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James Wood on George Levine’s volume, The Joys of Secularism

Mark Oppenheimer on Charles Taylor: He points out the importance for Taylor of the quest for authenticity in the modern world, both for individuals and for cultures, and the possibility that we might create political forms or governments that enable human flourishing.

Taylor is a difficult but rewarding read, an insightful perspective on religion in contemporary Western culture.

Part of Charles Taylor’s first chapter in the collection Rethinking Secularism, is now available on the web. Taylor writes:

And so the history of this term “secular” in the West is complex and ambiguous. It starts off as one term in a dyad that distinguishes two dimensions of existence, identifying them by the particular type of time that is essential to each. But from the foundation of this clear distinction between the immanent and the transcendent, there develops another dyad, in which “secular” refers to what pertains to a self-sufficient, immanent sphere and is contrasted with what relates to the transcendent realm (often identified as “religious”). This binary can then undergo a further mutation, via a denial of the transcendent level, into a dyad in which one term refers to the real (“secular”), and the other refers to what is merely invented (“religious”); or where “secular” refers to the institutions we really require to live in “this world,” and “religious” or “ecclesial” refers to optional accessories, which often disturb the course of this-worldly life.

Through this double mutation, the dyad itself is profoundly transformed; in the first case, both sides are real and indispensable dimensions of life and society. The dyad is thus “internal,” in the sense that each term is impossible without the other, like right and left or up and down. After the mutations, the dyad becomes “external”; secular and religious are opposed as true and false or necessary and superfluous. The goal of policy becomes, in many cases, to abolish one while conserving the other.

The significance of this lies primarily in the question whether Islamic (or other societies) can “secularize.” If secularization is uniquely bound to its historic context in western Christendom, then the answer to that question is not obvious. Still, Taylor argues”

Either we stumble through tangles of cross-purposes, or else a rather minimal awareness of significant differences can lead us to draw far-reaching conclusions that are very far from the realities we seek to describe. Such is the case, for instance, when people argue that since the “secular” is an old category of Christian culture and since Islam doesn’t seem to have a corresponding category, therefore Islamic societies cannot adopt secular regimes. Obviously, they would not be just like those in Christendom, but maybe the idea, rather than being locally restricted, can travel across borders in an inventive and imaginative way.

Religion and Politics–in the nation and in Wisconsin

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Jonathan D. Fitzgerald comments on the continuing debate over the role of religion in politics:

It feels progressive to say that we should’t mix religion and politics, because it feels like by saying so we are upholding the dream of our founders, but when citizens allow their politics to be informed by religious convictions, they are not leading our country down a slippery slope toward theocracy, they are being fully engaged citizens. This requires dialogue and compromise, give and take; it is not the easiest way forward, but, really, it’s the only way.

Consistent with that perspective, yesterday a group of Madison-area clergy held a press conference in which they expressed concern with the recently-passed budget. Their arguments used religious language and came out of the scriptural traditions of Judaism and Christianity. Several clergy stressed the importance that their religious perspectives be part of the public debate, when so often, the only religious voices being heard or receiving notice come from the Religious Right. The full document produced by the group, Concerned Religious Leaders of Wisconsin, is here.

 

The Empty Cathedrals of Europe

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The Empty Cathedrals of Europe.

Brian Jay Stanley visited Europe’s cathedrals and pondered the absence of God:

Europe’s cathedrals sublimely evoke the absence of God. They are temples that have decayed into museums. Tourists, not worshippers, fill their naves, driven by curiosity, not faith. One does not pay alms anymore but admission fees. The altar is roped off, not because it is sacred, but fragile. The silence of emptiness has replaced the silence of holiness.

Upon further reading, he learns that there was a great deal of human interest and motivation involved in their construction: competition between cities for prestige, desire for aristocrats to show off their wealth and “buy their salvation;” etc. He finds all this unsavory and unreligious:

“A secular and a religious society are equally profane, for a secular society banishes the sacred, while a religious society defiles it with the human.”

In fact, religious desires can only be expressed by human beings using our human energies, abilities, and, yes, weaknesses.

But this seemed to open up an interesting question, or relate to the ongoing debate in England about the riots last week. Mark Vernon points to an essay by Gordon Lynch on the development of values in individuals and communities which includes this:

If broader, sacred values can also bind us into a deeper sense of shared moral community across society, we might also ask how these can be nurtured. Our society has distinguished itself in creating built environments that show the least signs of any sense of sacred meaning of any period in history. Our high streets are dominated by chain stores and global corporations who promise convenience but little meaning. New-build properties offer modernist-lite conceptions of style, devoid of any sense of modernism’s original moral purpose. The explosion of public art has left our towns and cities with works that are all too often vacuous and un-compelling. Policy makers are clearly aware of this gap and have tried to address it, usually through repeated and unsuccessful attempts to re-launch a sense of ‘British-ness’. But convincing moral visions for society cannot be created in ersatz fashion through short-term policy ideas. They are already at hand, woven through the moral significance that is variously given to the nation, nature and humanity in the stories that our society tells about itself. Learning to see where these sacred meanings still move us, as well as the shadow-side of sacred commitments, is another long task for a remoralising society.

I think this is exactly right for the USA as well as for England. And it points to one of the key problems with Stanley’s post. Whatever motivations were involved in the construction of the cathedrals, at their heart was a vision of a space in which one might encounter God, indeed a vision, in some sense, of the heavenly city itself.

Science and Religion–Part 4 of Venema’s journey

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After posting last night about Dennis Venema’s story, he posted part 4 of his story. Read it here.

His description of reading Michael Behe’s Edge of Evolution (Behe is one of the leading proponents of Intelligent Design):

Before I had finished Edge of Evolution, I was done with ID. I would lose my faith in ID not by comparing it to the science of evolution, but by reading one of its leading proponents and evaluating his work on its own merits. ID, I decided, was an argument from analogy, ignorance and incredulity. I was looking for an argument from evidence. Due to an interesting set of circumstances, I was able to read Behe both as a credulous lay reader and as a skeptical trained scientist. Behe, I realized, hadn’t changed: I had changed, and what a difference it had made.

The next step came the same day:

Having rejected ID, I began to look into the evidence for evolution. I can also clearly recall this transition, and, if memory serves, it happened on the same day I rejected ID. This transition, however, required only ten or fifteen minutes – just as long as I needed to read the first research article on my reading list: the 2005 Nature paper comparing the human and chimpanzee genomes. I put the finished paper down on my desk, said “well, that’s that, then” out loud to my empty office, and sat back in my chair. The contrast with ID could hardly have been starker: here was nothing but argument from evidence. As a geneticist, I was fully capable of evaluating that evidence, and it was compelling. Humans and chimps were close relatives, and I was no longer an anti-evolutionist. Game, set, match. Moreover, my eyes were now open to the wonder and scope of evolution as a foundational theory of biology: everywhere I looked, evolution informed what I knew, whether in cell biology, genetics, immunology or developmental biology.

He also mentions his colleagues at Trinity Western cautioning him against being to open about his new views.

Religion and Science–Updates

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A few weeks ago, I posted about the debate within Evangelicalism over whether Adam and Eve ever “literally existed.” NPR picked up on the question recently. Andrew Sullivan and his readers follow the controversy.

Dennis Venema, Associate Professor and Department Chair of the Biology Department at Trinity Western University in British Columbia is blogging about his journey from supporting the Intelligent Design movement to seeing Evolution as a creative mechanism used by God. There are three entries so far. Each is well-written and together they offer insight into the thinking of an Evangelical scientist. Read them in order: First, second, third.

Meanwhile, news has come out that Calvin College reached agreement with a tenured professor in the Religion Department to resign because of his views on evolution. The story is here.

Ominous signs for the homeless in Madison

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An article in Isthmus points out the implications for the homeless population of the ongoing restrictions in the State Capitol, and the closure for renovation of the Central Library beginning in November. One person estimated as many as 150 people have sought shelter in one or the other place on winter days.

One option that has been available when the library is closed on Sundays is also slated for elimination. The Salvation Army has offered a community breakfast on Sundays that will end this August. I’m accustomed to encounter as many as twenty shelter guests waiting for a shuttle bus that will take them there when I arrive at the church on Sunday mornings. They lack the funding to continue the program.

On the other hand, it’s estimated that the total number of homeless people in Dane County decreased from 2009 to 2010, according to the most recent summary issued by the City of Madison.

 

Please don’t call the liturgy police!

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So, I did one of those things you’re probably warned against in Liturgy classes in seminary, but then I didn’t take such a class. Our 12 noon Spanish-language service has been without a regular priest since the retirement of Pat Size last year. It’s a small, but lively and very committed group and we are committed to seeing it thrive and support as long as needed. They continue to worship together, saying Morning Prayer some Sundays, relying on supply priests and occasionally a deacon to lead services. Although this solution may seem to be cobbled together, it has had one great benefit–raising up lay leadership and lay ownership of that worship service, empowering the laity to do the people’s work (liturgy).

When I met with the congregation several months ago to check in and see how I might support their efforts, I suggested on the spur of the moment, that we experiment with me celebrating the Eucharist in English, and they responding in Spanish. Today was our first trial.

It was interesting. Occasionally, I heard English responses to my words, but for the most part, we did it half and half. There was something of a disconnect, for me at least, but at the same time, we did come together around the altar as the Body of Christ, to share Christ’s body and blood, and in that coming together, we became one. It may be that in time, we will all become more comfortable with this experiment and find ways of making it more meaningful. I must say, it is rather odd, though, to use two languages in the liturgy. It seems to go against the notion of “common prayer.” Right now, we are planning on continuing the experiment on a monthly basis for the fall. We’ll see how it goes.

Even Dogs eat the crumbs from their masters’ tables: A Sermon for Proper 15, Year A

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Proper 15, year A

Mt 15:21-28

August 14, 2011

 

 

 

Imagine you are a parent, a mother whose daughter is ill. You’ve been to all the doctors, they haven’t given you a certain diagnosis, and they haven’t been able to treat her. All they can say is that she’s possessed by a demon. You’re at your wits’ end. You’ve even tried the quacks, the self-styled miracle workers and faith healers. But nothing has worked. Now you hear about this guy who’s coming through town; he’s not from around here, he’s Jewish, and back where he’s from, he’s done some amazing things. So you figure, let’s go check him out.

You see him walking down the road with his entourage, there are lots of people around him, and surrounding him are a bunch of guys who look like his security detail, his handlers. You have no chance to get close to him, so you cry out, “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David.” You’re making quite a ruckus by now, so the security guys, ok, let’s call them disciples, tell Jesus, “send her away.”

This is your last chance to help your daughter and you hope your shouted plea will bring a response, but the guy, Jesus, just keeps walking as if he didn’t hear you. So you keep trying. What do you have to lose? Somehow, you are able to elbow your way through the crowd, get past his handlers. Now, you kneel in front of him and ask again, “Lord, have mercy.”

Now you’re making a scene in front of him, blocking his way, so finally, Jesus has to respond. But does he turn to you in compassion and ask you what’s wrong? No. He tells you that your problems are no business of his. “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” In other words, I am here to help Jews, not Gentiles, like you.

In fact, the gospel has made that point even more clearly in its description of the woman as a Canaanite. To call her a Canaanite is bizarre. The Canaanites of course were Israel’s old enemies 800 years before. They had worshipped Baal and his female consort Asherah, and the Old Testament is full of stories of conflicts between Yahweh, Israel’s God, and Baal. So Matthew is trying to make the point that this woman is completely outside of God’s care, she’s not just any old gentile—she’s belongs to the most worthless, most hated group of all.

So Jesus tells you, “look I’ve got nothing to do with you.” But like any loving parent, you won’t take no for an answer. “Lord, help me,” you plead.

Now Jesus responds to you directly, but what he says is hardly reassuring. “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” You’re not sure you believe your ears. Indeed, we hearing these words 2000 years later, aren’t sure we get what Jesus means.

But what the meaning quickly becomes clear. You do get it and reply, “Yes, Lord, but even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ tables.”

Let’s stop right here. Did you get it this time around? Jesus has basically called her (and those of her community) dogs. She doesn’t deny it, she doesn’t bristle at the put down. Instead, she turns it back on him. “We may be dogs, Jesus, but remember, loving masters give their dogs table scraps to eat.”

Now, you’ve finally convinced him. Jesus praises your faith, and your daughter is healed instantly. Not a very pretty story is it? Jesus isn’t behaving like he’s supposed to behave, and the woman isn’t exactly a model of proper decorum, either.

This is may be of the most troubling stories in all of the gospels. Jesus is supposed to be merciful and compassionate, he’s supposed to respond with love and care when someone asks him for help. But that’s not what he does here. It’s not just that Jesus treats her with what appears to be enormous disrespect. It’s that she forces him to change his mind, to do something he seems not to want to do.

This story reminds of something quite important. Jesus is not quite everything we want him to be. We’ve got this warm, fuzzy notion about Jesus and this story breaks that notion apart. We want him to behave according to our standards and expectations, to fit into the box we’ve made for him, but unfortunately, the gospels tell a different story. As much as we want to domesticate Jesus and make his message one that confirms our preconceived notions of faith and of God, the gospels tell a different story. And this story may be the one that is most challenging of all.

One of the things I like about this story is that it shows a woman, an outsider, someone who has no religious power or even religious significance in the Jewish world of first century Palestine, challenging Jesus. More than that, as an outsider, as someone of reviled status, she forces herself into the story. She forces her way through Jesus’ disciples. She forces him to pay attention. She makes him stop in his tracks and notice her. When he ignores her dismisses her, she doesn’t walk away. She flat out disagrees with him, takes issue with him, engages in wordplay, and beats him at his own game.

The story addresses one of the central problems in early Christianity—the relationship of gentiles to the God of the Jews. Now, it’s not a big deal for us, since we are, I presume the vast majority of us, Gentile Christians, we weren’t Jews. But it was a big deal for the first Christians. In fact, in Matthew’s gospel, Jesus ministers to Gentiles only three times and this is the first occasion in his public ministry that he encounters a Gentile. It is clear that his mission is to Jews. After his resurrection, of course, he commissions the disciples to “make disciples of all nations.” But at this point, Jesus’ ministry is to the Jewish community and it may be, that until this encounter with the Canaanite woman, he had no notion that he might also minister outside that community, to Gentiles. Certainly, Matthew places this story here, to use it as a turning point in the gospel.

Just as the Canaanite woman challenged Jesus, this story challenges us. We claim to be followers of Jesus, but this remarkable tale confronts us with two very different models of following him. On the one hand, there are the disciples who are acting here as security guards to prevent unwanted people from gaining access to Jesus. They protect the traditional standards and boundaries of the faith. Moreover, they have not exactly been examples of faith. Jesus tells them more than once, “Oh, you of little faith.”

On the other hand, there is the Canaanite woman who approaches Jesus on her knees, addresses him as Son of David, and says, as we say in the liturgy, “Kyrie Eleison, Lord, have mercy.” In the end, Jesus says to her, “Great is her faith.” It is she that exhibits faith, she who understands who Jesus is, she who is the true follower, disciple, of Jesus.

But her faith is not the docile, simple faith that is so often extolled in works of piety or devotion. Hers is a questioning, challenging faith, a cheeky faith—demanding answers and responses not only from those around her, but also from the very God in whom she believes, the Jesus, before whom she kneels and begs, “Kyrie, Eleison, Lord have mercy.”

The Canaanite woman speaks for all of us when she demands that Jesus help her, because in Matthew’s gospel, it is in part through her demand that the mission of Jesus was extended to us. But she also challenges us all. She demands of us to admit where we stand, with the disciples who maintain the boundaries of comfort and convention, or with a God who is constantly breaking down the barriers that divide human beings from one another, who constantly challenges us to imagine a God whose grace and mercy extends not only to ourselves and those like us, but to all those whom we hate, revile, ignore, and dismiss.

 

Social Media–Assorted links and comment

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The New Media Project, from Union Theological Seminary, has great commentary on the use and implications of social media for religious organizations. Here are some of the recent provocative essays:

“As people ‘of the Book,’ are we instead cultivating a Tweet and sound bite religion as opposed to one of narrative and story?”

Reklis began the conversation by writing:

I want to start thinking about the theology of this future we are living. That is, I want to start thinking about what we can say theologically about the human subjects we are becoming in the face of transformative social media.

I’m inclined not to diatribe about new technology. It’s here to stay, we can’t put the genie back in the bottle. Even monasteries, designed for retreat from the world, use websites and social media. But the existence of digital technology means we have to work harder to cultivate an interior life that notices. We have to learn again how to converse, to argue, to talk rather than to text.

While the evermore interconnected nature of our world doesn’t change the nature of God, it provides new models that can enrich our understanding. An abstract theological concept such as, “God is everywhere,” is somehow easier to visualize now that it feels as if we can be everywhere at once, if only virtually. The idea that we’re all part of the worldwide body of Christ is easier to grasp in an era in which we are joined in a nexus of communication that brings people together whether they’re across the street or in the mountains of northern India.

Rice points to something important. It’s easy to see the practical implications of social media–the increased power to communicate, the ability to create and maintain relationships across vast distances, but the deeper meaning of relating through facebook and other social media is more elusive. Reslik points in the same direction by asking about what kinds of human beings are we becoming by making use of technology. Rice takes it another step to ask, what is the church, the body of Christ, becoming?

Those of us who are incarnational in our theology may be somewhat suspect of relationships built and maintained through cyberspace rather than through the hard work of being together in community as the body of Christ and sharing the body of Christ.

From Forbes: “Top Ten Social Media Myths.”